


nobody wins

by savedby



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Frottage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-06 12:14:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11035992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savedby/pseuds/savedby
Summary: If pressed, Sid couldn’t tell you what either of them are getting out of it.





	nobody wins

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sunshinexbomb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshinexbomb/gifts).



> This is for Jarka, who said there should be more Sid/Ovi fic, and also, to hopefully lessen the sting of loss.

 

 

If pressed, Sid couldn’t tell you what either of them are getting out of it.

 

It’s potentially dangerous, waiting in a nondescript hotel room for someone you’ve just played a very brutal playoff game against. Someone that you can never be sure will even show.

 

The sound of the door unlocking echoes loud in the room. It takes Sid off guard. Backstrom’s face is unreadable when he enters, closing the door quietly behind him. His curls shine bronze in the half-light of the bedside lamp. 

 

Sid stays quiet, watching him line up his shoes and hang up his jacket, shaking off droplets of rain. It’s raining in Washington, and Backstrom doesn’t have an umbrella.

 

Backstrom crosses the room, pauses for a moment to stare at Sid, at where he’s sitting on the edge of the untucked bed.

 

Sid leans up, waiting for the kiss he knows is coming.

 

This part, at least, is familiar.

 

Backstrom’s mouth is hot and demanding. Their chapped lips catch on each other and Sid’s mouth fills with a tang of iron. Backstrom doesn’t have much of a playoff beard going, even a few weeks in, and Sid’s bristles scrape against the soft skin of his cheek.

 

Sid lets himself be pushed back on the bed, responding to the barely leashed frustration under Backstrom’s skin. He doesn’t let up for a moment, hands sneaking under Sid’s shirt, running over his sides.

 

For a moment, Sid is at a loss, torn between wanting to touch everywhere at once and not knowing what Backstrom wants. Then Backstrom goes for Sid’s fly and he gets with the program quickly.

 

Sid kicks off his jeans and Backstrom takes him into his mouth, no preamble, no warning. Things get a little bit hazy, after that.

 

Sid touches his jaw, combing back his curls so he can watch. Backstrom doesn’t like his hair pulled and he doesn’t want to be warned, and neither of these were things that Sid would have expected of him. He’s learned them through experience.

 

In contrast, Backstrom knows how to play him, knows all his spots, how to push him gently to orgasm. It feels like he’s always known.

 

But then again, maybe Sid’s always been easy for him, for his mouth, for his fingers, for his eyes, hooded and shining in the low light.

 

His orgasm blindsides him and he runs his knuckles apologetically down Backstrom’s cheek as he pulls back, coughing, wiping the corner of his mouth.

 

And Sid is less than coherent, but enough to grab for the lube on the bedside table.

 

“Do you want to fuck my thighs?” Sid says, already turning over, presenting himself. Backstrom runs the palm of his hand over Sid’s ass, reverent, and it’s been enough time that Sid doesn’t feel anything other than pleased.

 

Backstrom moves with even, shallow thrusts and Sid lets himself get lost in it. His dick makes a half-hearted attempt to get re-involved with the process, but Sid isn’t 19 anymore. Not like when they first started doing this.

 

Backstrom comes quietly, with a deep sigh and a splash of warmth against Sid’s thigh. He’s courteous enough to roll over on his side, so Sid isn’t being crushed. Sid turns around to look at him, watching the fan of his eyelashes over his closed eyes as he catches his breath.

 

Backstrom opens his eyes, catches him staring. Sid is too old to shyly look away, but the impulse is there.

 

Backstrom seems to be in no hurry to wake up and redress, which means he’s probably feeling more amenable than usual after a loss. Sid takes a chance and moves closer, placing his head carefully on Backstrom’s shoulder. After a moment, his arm comes up to circle Sid’s shoulders, shifting him to a more comfortable position. Sid puts his hand on Backstrom’s stomach, feeling it rise and fall under his palm.

 

Backstrom has a bruise just below his ribs, and Sid wonders who put it there. Cole, maybe? Or, Geno?

 

Backstrom had looked beautiful out there tonight. Fast and clever, with an almost supernatural ability to anticipate movement. 

 

“So when are you going to be up for a trade to Pittsburgh?” Sid mutters into his collarbone. It’s a longstanding joke. Backstrom never laughs.

 

“Are you ready to move to the wing, then?” Backstrom asks, sardonically. Sid takes a moment to imagine it - learning a position he’s never played, just for that laser precise pass and a flash of blue eyes - and then lets it go.

 

“Maybe next season,” Sid says, huffing a laugh.

 

It’s not the first time he’s wondered what Backstrom is getting out of all of this. He used to think that it had something to do with Ovechkin, that Sid had been a placeholder for something Backstrom saw every day but could never have like this.

 

But, it’s been years since Backstrom’s stopped saying the wrong name in bed.

 

“You shouldn’t risk playing with a concussion,” Backstrom says, serious. 

 

“I’m fine, Nicky,” Sid says, lightly. And even that’s calculated, because he never calls him that. “If you’re really worried, maybe you should tell your guys to back off.”

 

Backstrom snorts. “Maybe you should tell that to yours.”

 

Sid huffs out a laugh. They’re at a stalemate, but that’s okay. Stalemate is their most usual state when they’re together.

 

Sid’s never really been able to figure it out. But then again, he’s never been able to figure out what he gets out of it either. 

 

He mentioned it to his therapist once, this thing he has with Backstrom. She’d looked at him sternly and asked him why he couldn’t seem to hold down a real relationship. He didn’t really talk about it after that.

 

Backstrom strokes his fingers down Sid’s arm and Sid presses a kiss to his chest in acknowledgement.

 

Maybe there are moments where the payoff doesn’t really matter. Minutes where you don’t have to win to survive.

 

Sid closes his eyes and settles more comfortably, listening to the sound of Backstrom’s even breathing. He can have this, even if only for a few more minutes.

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://muzzmurray.tumblr.com/), tell me all about your rarepairs.


End file.
